


Good Directions

by riseofthefallenone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meeting, Flirting, Fluff, Human!Castiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then he looks up and, for a second or two, Dean forgets how to breathe. Big ol’ baby blue eyes. His ultimate weakness. It’s like cupid took aim and shot Dean right between the ribs. He’s smitten from first glance and that just spells out all sorts of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Directions

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song [_Good Directions_](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/billycurrington/gooddirections.html) by Billy Currington.

The Kansas sun makes the air go bendy above the road while the heat keeps climbing. Dean kicks back in his lawn chair under the doubled shade of the standing roof he built above his fruit-and-veggies stall _and_ the tree just behind him. He’s got the Impala pulled off the road, but she’s only partly in the shade. She’ll be cool enough on the inside by the time Dean decides to pack up the crates and head on home.

For now, he’s happy listening to his classic rock on the radio propped up on top of his cooler. He methodically chews at the end of a piece of straw while he turns a piece of wood over and over in his hand, trying to find where he’s going to put the blade of his pocket knife next. Depending on the size of the wood and the details he’s carving, he can usually whittle something in a few days while he mans the fruit stand. He likes doing things with his hands and it keeps his mind busy during the hot summer days.

Sam can make all the offers he wants, but Dean is never giving up his quiet time. The sun, his music, and the customers are just what he needs to get by when he’s feeling wound up from the stress of running the farm. The main road goes right past their land and it’s the quickest shot to the Interstate from the big city (and vice versa). They get just enough people driving by for Dean to head back up to the farm with a decent amount of coin in his pocket at the end of the day.

Technically speaking, they make plenty of money selling off their wheat crops and just about everything else they grow, so Dean doesn’t actually _need_ to have the stand. But it’s a nice (and cheap) way for the locals to get fresh fruits and veggies. It’s his little way of giving back to the community that practically helped to raise him and Sam when their parents died. So, while Sam takes care of the books and has his office in the house, Dean makes sure the farm is running and the equipment is in top shape. His stand is his office and he likes it that way.

Besides the personal time, Dean’s favourite thing – hands down – is the clientele. There’s the locals and the regulars, and he’s even started recognizing a couple people from the big city who drive back and forth to an out-of-city job or something. But it’s the _new_ people who get him the most excited. There are so many different folks with so many different stories. Not all of them are up for a little chat, but the ones that Dean does manage to coax into a conversation are always interesting and he likes to think they drive away a little happier than when they arrived.

He can’t help getting a little excited whenever he hears the thrum of an engine coming around the bend. Today isn’t any different and it hasn’t exactly been on the quiet side. Friday’s are always a little busier with people heading off to their cabins and the camping grounds. Slow or busy, Dean still enjoys his time out here.

At the sound of tires on the road, Dean looks up from under his straw hat (a joke gift from Jess that he uses out of spite). A snort of laughter gets caught in the back of his throat at the little smart car with a nice powder blue paint job and a big city license plate that pulls up along the side of the road just down from his stand. Those little lunch box cars never fail to crack him up. They just look so _ridiculous_. Dean can’t even wrap his head around how the average person can actually fit inside it, let alone still have it be functional.

Any nit-picking he has about the car flaps itself right out of his head the moment the driver’s side door swings open and out steps the most attractive guy he’s seen all week. If his niece was here, Dean imagines she might pick right about now to break into that _Once Upon A Dream_ song from that Disney flick with the sleeping chick. It’s the sappiest damn thing he’s probably ever thought before but Dean doesn’t care. He’s too busy trying not to look like he’s checking the guy over as he crunches along the shoulder of the road.

Mr. Smart Car looks out of place in the middle of farming country. His polo shirt and fresh-from-the-store jeans stick out like a sore thumb and his sensible shoes are going to get scuffed if he keeps walking on this gravel. The whole outfit is at odds with the scruff on his jaw and his messy hair. It looks like he’s run his hand through it a half million times before he decided to drive with the windows down.

Or, he could’ve been on the verge of pulling all his hair out. Judging by the map in his hand, the glare he’s directed at it, and the frustrated crease in his forehead, Dean thinks the guy might be a little lost.

And then he looks up and, for a second or two, Dean forgets how to breathe. Big ol’ baby blue eyes. His ultimate weakness. It’s like cupid took aim and shot Dean right between the ribs. He’s smitten from first glance and that just spells out all sorts of trouble.

Leaving his knife and hunk of wood on his chair, Dean tosses his straw stalk to the ground and dusts his hands off on his ratty jeans. His biggest and brightest smile slips into place without any effort at all. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’ll take an apple and directions to the Interstate, please.” Mr. Blue Eyes has one hell of an intense stare and he’s got a voice to match the gravel under his feet. If he’s not careful, Dean might actually swoon.

They deal with the transaction of pocket change exchanged for fruit before Dean takes the guy’s map book from him. All the fruit is washed and ready to be eaten, but Mr. Smart Car doesn’t even ask about it. As soon as the apple is in his hand, he takes a big bite and his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. Dean’s throat goes dry and his knees get a little weak.

He has to look down at the map to avoid staring at how the guy’s chapped lips have gone all shiny with the juice from the apple. Dean holds the map flat between them and points out exactly where they are. “We’re right here. The Interstate is over here.” His finger slides an inch or so across the page to the thick line that marks the highway.

“Oh.” Mr. Gravel Voice sighs around a mouthful of apple and takes the map back, frowning down at it. “I don’t understand how I managed to get here.”

“Well, we’ve got some rascals who like to drive out and change up the road signs sometimes.” Dean shrugs and gives him another one of his award winning smiles. “Y’probably just took a wrong turn somewhere. Don’t worry about it.”

One of the guy’s eyebrows twitches slightly. “I have a family reunion I’m supposed to be at in two hours and I have no idea where I am. Why shouldn’t I worry?”

“It’s too nice a day for worrying. Besides, I just showed you where you are.” He spreads his arms, gesturing at the farmland around them. “You’re right here. And if you’re really worried about not getting to the Interstate in time, you just keep going up this road.” Dean tilts his head down the hill toward the center of town. “See those caution lights?”

The guy takes another bite of his apple and nods. His full attention is on Dean and it’s sending all sorts of shivers down his spine. He licks his lips and starts feeling all kinds of conspicuous about his hands. What does he normally do with them? He can’t remember and he shoves them in his pockets for lack of anything better to do.

“You just head on right past those caution lights and you’ll see a little corner store with an old Coke sign out front. Even if you’re on a schedule, y’should still stop and ask Miss Ellen for some of her sweet tea.” That eyebrow tweaks itself up a little higher as Mr. Blue Eyes continues practically demolishing the apple in his hand. Poor fellah must’ve been pretty damn hungry. “It’s the best damn sweet tea you’re ever gonna find in all of Kansas. I’d stake my car on it.”

He hums and chews thoughtfully, glancing off down the road to where you can _just_ see the corner store through the trees that line the road. His apple is almost done and Dean’s prepares himself for giving the last bit of directions Mr. Smart Car is going to need to get to the Interstate. After that, the guy is gonna leave and Dean hasn’t even managed to get a name out of him yet. Well, there are ways of fixing that. Maybe. Hopefully.

Dean’s throat feels dry and he swallows thickly. “If y’take a left after the store, you’ll hit the Interstate in no time. But if you turn right – well, that’ll bring you right back here to me.” Before he can stop himself, he actually fucking _winks_ at the guy and almost winces at himself for it.

Mr. Gravel Voice stops chewing. He stops damn well everything and Dean can’t even be completely sure that the guy’s still breathing. All he’s doing is standing there and staring at Dean with a mostly eaten apple held up by his mouth. It takes a moment for something to actually happen and when it does it catches Dean by surprise. The guy’s whole face flushes red. From the roots of his hair to the tip of his chin, he goes almost as red as the apple in his hand.

He coughs around finishing the bite he has in his mouth and his eyes drop from Dean’s face to the road. They flick up to him again only to drop right away, this time landing on the crates of fruits and vegetables. Mr. Smart Car clears his throat. “I – Thank you. For the directions. And the – the delicious apple. I’m – May I buy a container of blueberries too? Please?”

Change of topic. Well, that’s a turn down if Dean ever saw one. As disappointed as he is, he’s a big boy and he takes it in stride. “Sure thing. Let me just grab you a bag.” He keeps his smile firmly fixed as he gets a paper bag out from the box under his chair and carefully slips the container of blueberries into it.

Dean folds the top down and hands it over in exchange for another handful of change. He notices that there’s only one bite left on the apple. “You can pitch that into the ditch when you’re done with it.”

The guy nods, a blush still filling his cheeks. It looks good on him and Dean’s a little tempted to find out what else he can say to make Mr. Blue Eyes blush, but he knows when he’s been beat. After another mumbled thank you, the guy heads back to his car, ditching the apple core before he gets inside. Dean waves when he drives past and he stays standing, watching the little blue car roll away down the hill.

After a moment, Dean groans loudly and hangs his head, covering his face with both hands. It’s a crying shame that he never managed to get the guy’s name. He’s gonna be forever known as _The Guy_ (and his various nicknames). What the hell was he thinking hitting on a city guy like that anyway? He was wearing a _polo_ shirt, for fuck’s sake.

Mr. Gravel Voice probably thought that Dean was just a flirty redneck. What with his damn Midwest accent, his stupid hat, that frikken stalk of straw, _and_ the whittling – God, it’s no surprise that the city boy ran off at the first sign of interest. At least Dean wasn’t wearing his damn overalls today. If he had, he’d be crawling into the ditch right now to join that apple core for the rest of his days.

He scoops his whittling out of the way and slumps back into his chair with a sigh. With how hard the guy had been blushing, Dean’s actually a little worried that he went and made him feel all sorts of _uncomfortable_. That wasn’t his intention at all and now he feels like shit. Why does he do stupid things like hitting on people out of his league like that? _Why_?

“Idiot.” Dean grumbles to himself, putting the edge of the knife to the wood. He takes his unhappiness out on it as his nice, quiet day starts feeling not so nice anymore.

* * *

Castiel glances in the rear view mirror as he coasts down the side of the gentle hill. He tells himself that he’s only looking to see how dark his blush is, but he doesn’t even look at his own face. His eyes are fixed on the green-eyed man with the pleasingly rough voice he’s leaving in the shade of the fruit stand. The vendor is staring after him and Castiel has to bring his attention back to the road before he throws his car in reverse and goes right back.

He doesn’t look away fast enough and Castiel just catches how the vendor covers his face with his hands. There’s something curious settled in the pit of his chest and it’s demanding that he turn around. After all, he never did learn the vendor’s name. Or where he got all the fruit. Did he grow it himself? His tan and attire would lead one to believe that he is, indeed, a farmer. What’s his name? Did he grow up around here? What’s his favourite colour? Season? Sports team? Letter of the Alphabet?

The onslaught of questions catches him by surprise. He shouldn’t be this curious about an attractive stranger he only spoke to for a handful of minutes.

When he passes the caution lights and draws closer to the intersection with the corner store, Castiel decides to attribute his itch for more information to the fact that he _really_ does not want to attend his family reunion. His entire family is going to be there and as the baby of all his siblings _and_ his cousins, he tends to end up the butt of most jokes and teasing. It usually spells out the beginning, middle, and end of an unpleasant weekend but he can’t miss it and his parents are expecting him.

A chalkboard sign on the sidewalk in front of the corner store catches Castiel’s attention. In neat, colourful lettering, it reads; _Homemade Sweet Tea_. The vendor’s words ring in his head about the best sweet tea in the state and without realizing it, Castiel is already slowing down to park at the curb. He feels strangely detached from his body as he gets out of the car and crosses the street to the store. Even the little bell that dings above the door doesn’t do anything to snap him out of it. If anything, it only serves to confuse Castiel more about _why_ he decided to stop.

Sitting on a stool behind the counter and reading a newspaper is a middle aged woman. She must be Miss Ellen. A warm smile fills her face when she looks up, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the smile of the green-eyed vendor. “Well, hello there handsome! What can I do for you?”

For a moment, Castiel can’t remember why he entered the store. All he can think about his the directions the vendor gave him and the obvious flirtation implied with turning right. He glances around and something in his chest lurches when he notices that he can just make out the fruit stand at the top of the hill through the side window. The vendor himself is hidden, but Castiel knows he’s there and it almost pains him to have to look away.

His throat feels too dry and he clears it, trying to shake himself out of the stupor settled in his head. “I’ve been informed that you have the best sweet tea in the state.”

She laughs as she slips off the stool. “Have you now? And who told you that?”

“The young man selling fruit and vegetables at the side of the road.” Castiel points out the window and immediately drops his hand. It feels almost embarrassing to single out the vendor like that.

“Ah, that would be Dean Winchester.” Miss Ellen’s smile turns fond and Castiel can’t help glancing back out the window toward the vendor – no – toward _Dean Winchester_. The name suits him. “He’s likely fixing to get himself one of my pies. But, you’re in luck. He ain’t lying about my tea. Let me get you a cup.” He hears the clinking of glasses, but he doesn’t look away from the window or the vendor. “Where you headed, handsome?”

“The Interstate.” Castiel answer automatically, forcing himself look back at her. It would be rude of him to continue talking to Miss Ellen without looking at her. “The ven – Dean said I have to turn left here, or I could –” He stops himself before continuing. The rest of the directions don’t matter. Left. He’s going to be turning _left_.

“Or what, hun?” Miss Ellen tilts her head at him in curiosity while she uses a damp cloth to wipe the glass down.

Well, there’s really no point in him _not_ telling her what Dean said. “Or, he said I could turn right.”

For a moment, Miss Ellen’s hands stop moving. The way she looks at him changes, her eyes flicking over him. Castiel is suddenly struck with the horrifying realization that Miss Ellen might be aware what turning right means and now she might know that Dean had _flirted_ with him. What if she didn’t know that Dean takes to flirting with men? This looks like a small community and Castiel might have just accidentally and unintentionally outted Dean.

But Miss Ellen’s smile never falters. If anything, it almost turns a little sly. “And that would take you right back there to him, wouldn’t it?”

Castiel can feel another blush start to creep into his ears and he nods, glancing away. She doesn’t seem troubled by this, so it can’t be news to her. He glances back towards the window and he can’t help but wonder if she knows that because she knows the area, or if Dean has used that line before with others.

“I should’ve known!” Miss Ellen laughs, bending over to open a small fridge behind the counter. “That boy always did have good taste.”

His heart starts to flutter in his chest and Castiel is only confused by this reaction in him. The small part of him that keeps calling out ‘ _turn right_ ’ is quickly growing. But he can’t. He _has_ to turn left. If he doesn’t, he’s going to be late for his family reunion. But that thought – _turn right_ – it just... it _feels_ right. Castiel doesn’t know how to explain it, but it does.

“Here’s your sweet tea, sweetie.” It isn’t a glass on the counter when Castiel looks back at her. In front of Miss Ellen is a milk jug full of sweet tea. Tied on a string around the neck of the jug are two plastic cups.  Miss Ellen pushes it across the counter. “It’s on the house.”

Another blush starts creeping under his skin and Castiel carefully pulls the jug into his arms. He hugs it to his chest and murmurs his thanks. She only smiles at him as he quickly ducks out of the store and returns to his car. The sweet tea sloshes inside the jug as he places it next to the bag of blueberries on his front seat. Looking at them only makes Castiel want to turn around and he can’t do that. He needs to leave and go _left_.

The car hums to life under him and he pulls up to the intersection. There’s a sign on the corner with an arrow indicating that left is definitely the direction he should go if he wants to continue to the Interstate. But he doesn’t want to go that way. Castiel sighs and glances at the bottle and berries again. The two cups are bouncing together slightly and Castiel is almost hypnotized by them.

His desire to learn more about Dean Winchester hasn’t ebbed in the slightest. He knows he _should_ turn left, but a growing – and currently winning – part of him _wants_ to turn right. Castiel’s family may want him to be there today, but he has all of the afternoon and evening to get there. What he might not have the opportunity to do again is spend some of his time sitting on the side of the road in the company of a green-eyed vendor with a captivating smile. They could talk with the freedom that only strangers can have – something that Castiel can’t often, or ever, do with anyone else.

With a determined set to his jaw, Castiel turns the wheel to the right. He tries not to think about what he’s doing as he follows the road in a wide loop, circling through wheat and corn fields before he finally comes to the main road again. Before long, the fruit stand is in view and Castiel can see the shape of Dean stretched out in his chair again. The car hasn’t even come to a full stop and already Castiel’s nerves are fluttering behind his ribs, pinching his insides. He’s nervous. When was the last time he was _nervous_ about talking to someone?

Dean looks up in surprise when the car pulls up onto the shoulder of the road and he’s on his feet before Castiel is even out of the car, a hopeful smile already stretching across his lips. He’s beautiful when he smiles and Castiel shushes the voice whispering in his ear, detailing just how much he would like to learn all the expressions that Dean can make. Even more so, he wants to learn what causes the emotions that would make him laugh, or smile, or cry.

He’s just a man. A farmer and a vendor on the side of the road. Castiel shouldn’t feel like he just found the world’s most intriguing puzzle. And his tongue shouldn’t feel as heavy as it does, weighed with the nerves pinching tight under his ribs. He swallows thickly and licks his lips as they approach one another.

“You turned right.” There’s so much delight in Dean’s voice that it’s contagious and he can’t stop himself from smiling back.

“I told Miss Ellen about your instructions.” Castiel explains, lifting the jug for Dean to see. “She was rather adamant with her silent hints that I turn right. I have to say, you give very good directions, Dean.”

His smile falter slightly with surprise before a short laugh punches out of him. Castiel decides that he likes Dean’s laugh. It’s very pleasant to listen to. “Miss Ellen told me your name. Mine is Castiel – Castiel Collins. Would you like to join me for some sweet tea?”

Dean’s smile grows until crinkles form at the corners of his eyes and that nervous edge in Castiel’s chest vanishes. “It would make my day, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> I get a lot of questions asking how I plot out and outline a fic prior to writing it. If you're interested in seeing my writing process for short oneshots (which is pretty different from how I write chaptered fics) from plotting to outlining to writing, [you can see a document describing it with examples here.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1t3s98KFwTq7URtDzVZXeEQM-Xcfflc7Kmsx1f4esAEg/edit)


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